


That Old Black Magic

by Prius



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Super
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Sex, Cloaca Sex, Fingering, Humiliation, M/M, Painful Sex, Sex, Size Difference, Tournament of Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27169222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prius/pseuds/Prius
Summary: During the Tournament of Power, Jiren has a personal grudge to settle against a mad tyrant.
Relationships: Jiren (Dragon Ball)/Frieza (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	That Old Black Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Not my usual, but whatever. I noticed that Dio's English VA also voices Jiren, if that helps bridge the gap.
> 
> My apologies in advance if Jiren is out of character, though it's not like they gave him very much to begin with. 
> 
> Please heed the tags.

Frieza should’ve known something was wrong when the slender bunny rabbit’s expression twisted from desperate fear to incredible relief. Dyspo’s flattened ears flared up, and his wide, round yellow eyes flooded with a rush of _hope,_ which Frieza would delight in ruthlessly crushing. 

“What are you looking so happy for, worm?” Frieza sneered at him. Dyspo’s stray glance away meant he wasn’t paying his full attention, in a fight where he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes— the lanky Pride Trooper caught Frieza’s fist right in his buck teeth, and went flying until he was halted by a stray boulder in his path. 

Dyspo lay there for a moment, trying to recover; his fragile, lagomorphic nose was streaming blood, and at least one tooth appeared to have been knocked loose. His muscles twitched a moment or two later, and after an initial effort to rise, he sank back into the rocky impact crater he’d made with a low groan of pain.

“Given up so soon? The kind of rabble they send to defend their own universe! Why, it’s embarrassing for you.”

Frieza was confident in Dyspo’s defeat. Maybe even _over-confident._ The emperor leisurely stalked towards his fallen prey, a tiny beam of energy building at the tip of his finger.

Killing wasn’t allowed, of course, but _torture_ was a whole other matter. A broken body and a broken spirit would assure Dyspo would _not_ be getting up again, and he could probably use a few new ventilation holes in that skintight suit… and by proxy his body, of course.

Frieza was smirking already, imagining the rabbit’s screams of anguish. He hadn’t been able to take his time with anyone else, given the nature of the tournament, but Dyspo had been _almost_ a challenge to fight, and Frieza was _loath_ to have anything close to an equal. A little torture would knock the impudent bunny down a peg or two the next time he thought about humiliating Lord Frieza…

A sound gave Frieza pause. Gentle laughter, wheezed and broken, from Dyspo. The Trooper’s chest was heaving, his extremities and oversized ears trembling with the motion. 

“What are you so happy about?” Frieza sneered, tail whipping agitatedly against the ground. “I’m going to knock you off the stage, and let your whole universe be consigned to cosmic dust.” 

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Dyspo wheezed.

“And why would that be? I’ve crushed you finely, don’t you agree?” Frieza took an aggressive step forward, leveling his finger with Dyspo’s knee; one shot to cripple the speedy bunny would ensure he wouldn’t be hopping around and making trouble any time soon. 

“Yeah, sure. You might’ve beaten me,” Dyspo’s head moved, tilting up. There was a sudden burst of unnerving ferocity in his eyes; that repugnant look of half self-assurance and half pity that Frieza could see so clearly in his mind’s eye on that infuriating monkey Goku. It made his lip curl. “But I _know_ you can’t beat _him.”_

His gaze moved, edging just over Frieza’s shoulder. The disgraced galactic emperor was filled with the _overwhelming premonition_ that he should move, and before even glancing back he leapt to the side. Frieza pirrhouted, sweeping his tail behind himself, and dropped into a preparatory crouch. 

“You can’t sense energy, can you?” Dyspo wheezed. “‘The kind of rabble they send to defend their own universe…’” Weakly, the wounded Trooper began to rise from the rubble. “That’s a huge blind spot, you mouthy son of a bitch.” 

Standing right behind Frieza was that fighter Frieza had been repeatedly warned of— _Jiren,_ they called him, allegedly the most dangerous warrior in the tournament. Frieza had been led to believe he was biding his time, conserving his strength— uninvolved with things until they reached their most dire. 

Frieza was confident in his skills, but knew, practically, he couldn’t hope to counter both of them at the same time. His best chance would be to regroup with the fools from his own Universe and go back to fighting one on one.

Dyspo staggered over to Jiren, a cloud of dust dogging his steps. He took his place beside the taciturn, muscle-bound giant, and settled into a fighting stance.

“This chump’s got nothin’ on us,” Dyspo said, his heaving chest beginning to slowly settle. “Right, Jiren?” 

“I will handle this,” Jiren said, simply. When Dyspo did not move, the bulky alien’s huge eyes darted to his comrade. _“Alone,_ Dyspo.”

Dyspo’s face wrinkled with concern. “Are you sure?”

Jiren’s stony expression spoke for him. Dyspo hesitated a moment longer— but, obedient as a trained pet, darted off to start a new fray elsewhere. Frieza did not take his eyes off of Jiren as he hazarded a shot towards the fleeing Pride Trooper— the blast was easily dodged, and Dyspo disappeared behind a several meter high piece of jagged rubble.

“Well, it’s just us, then,” Frieza’s tail flicked of its own accord, betraying his agitation. “I suppose I’m such a threat you just _had_ to come out of your catatonia, is that right?”

He was met with unnerving silence. Frieza could not sense power levels- or, at least, he could not sense them very well- but he could still faintly detect a prickle of raw malice; some burning, white-hot hatred that manifested in a kind of energy that Frieza could feel from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail. It was substantiated with an _immense strength_ , Frieza detected, and he was well aware the coming fight would not be easy. 

“I suppose it’s good you showed up when you did,” Frieza continued, tone polite and conversational. “I might’ve killed your friend— I do occasionally make slip-ups when I torture people, you know. I forget just how _weak_ the average person can be.” 

The needling remarks were not yielding anything. No errant twitch of muscle, no narrowing of eyes, no tightening of fists. Jiren remained completely impassive, composed. 

“But at least now he’s gone he won’t have to see what I’m going to do to you,” Frieza inhaled, sharply, and gathered his strength.

Golden Frieza, as he’d lovingly named his power, felt _incredible._ The rush of strength and energy was nothing short of delicious— lending a kind of bullheaded assuredness in his might, the confidence needed to crush his enemies to dust. And the form itself felt _good—_ like he was cloaked in the softest of silks and protected in the sturdiest of armor. He felt limber, fast, but also overwhelmingly _strong._

His gilded adornments came with the rush of his power; the glinting gold of a living god, a noble color that befitted the one wearing it. 

_I am the invincible Golden Frieza— and I’m strong enough to destroy anyone in my way, including this_ **_Jiren!_ **

“You could not know this,” Jiren said, placidly, “But I have known ones such as yourself before.”

He took a step forward. Frieza did not move. 

“Oh?” Frieza asked. “I would say there’s no one _quite_ like me… but _do_ go on.” 

“I was listening. I know who and what you are.” 

“The invincible and indomitable Lord Frieza,” Frieza did a little mocking bow. “At your service… though you’re soon to be at your knees.” 

Jiren moved with stunning speed. Frieza could barely follow it.

“Wh—”

His gloved fist was around Frieza’s throat. 

_“Ghhh—!”_

Frieza struggled, kicking his feet, but found only empty air. He tried to strike out with his tail, but Jiren was already gone.

An overwhelming, crushing force drove into Frieza from behind, knocking the breath from him and causing him to go flying into a jagged bit of terrain several meters away; the assault had overwhelmed his capabilities, breached his defenses. 

_He can’t keep going at full power for long,_ Frieza thought, frenzied. His ears were ringing; the pain hadn’t kicked in yet, suppressed by overwhelming adrenaline. He could feel his whole body pulsing with the rhythm of his heart. _I have to outlast him, and then I’ll—_

A powerful fist grabbed his tail. Frieza fired a wild barrage of _ki_ blasts behind himself, but if any of them hit, he had no idea. 

He was flung, again, into another nearby shelf of rock; the pain of the landing hit properly this time, stunning in its intensity. It was all he could do to gasp for air and stay conscious.

A fist drove itself into his stomach. Once, twice, three times, driving the newly-gotten air from his lungs and making Frieza see stars. It was finished with a fist to the face, then an uppercut to his jaw that sent him flying. The resurrected emperor sailed through the air for a few seconds, then landed, limply, on the stony stage of the stadium. 

“Hhh… _hhh…”_ Frieza took a moment to simply retrieve the air that had been forced from his battered frame. His entire body was screaming with pain. Nevertheless, he attempted to weakly turn over on his belly and get up. 

If he could just… have a _few seconds_ to recover… 

The ferocity and speed of the onslaught just then proved he couldn’t beat Jiren, but if he could pull himself together, he might at least have the ability to escape.

Footsteps came stalking up beside him.

“You know… I’m sensing some pleasure from this,” Frieza wheezed. “Despite the cold shoulder you’d been giving your team, I guess you really _do_ care.” 

Talking might distract him. Give Frieza an opportunity to run, or gain the upper hand in some other capacity.

“I’m not pummeling you for my team.” Jiren told him.

“Then you’re a sadist,” Frieza managed to prop himself up on his palms, and was working on forcing his numb knees to take his weight next. None of Jiren’s blows appeared to have broken anything— though if that was due to Frieza’s own resilience, Jiren’s weakness, or if he was pulling his punches, it was hard to tell.

“Not a sadist. Settling a score.”

“My dear fellow, I’m quite sure I’ve never seen you in my life,” Frieza told him. His knees had been securely planted beneath him. Now, just to get back on his feet… “Though, to be fair, I’ve destroyed so many worlds… it wouldn’t surprise me if a survivor of one of my genocides ran off to another Universe out of fear.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Jiren’s foot struck Frieza’s ribs, sending him flying through the air; while airborne, Jiren appeared over him, face perfectly neutral. 

He clubbed his fists down on Frieza’s belly and sent him hurtling towards the ground, where the solid stone of the stage cracked and broke under the force of his landing.

There was a sharp, stabbing pain amidst the fresh agonies; _broken,_ something was _definitely_ broken. Frieza gasped, and it sent a new flood of pain through him. Panic grasped the base of his skull, replacing the preening flattery of the invincible Golden form. 

Jiren approached, slowly. He didn’t appear to be reveling in this, but who could tell? The ferocity of his attacks suggested personal hatred. 

“Did I…” Speaking hurt, _unreasonably_ badly, but Frieza couldn’t help himself. “Touch a nerve…?” 

“You have a death wish,” Jiren told him.

“I’ve died twice already,” the emperor sneered. “I wear this humiliating halo as proof enough. You don’t frighten Lord Frieza.”

Jiren’s expression was unfazed.

“Then maybe I’ll give you something to be frightened of,” he said. 

He stalked towards Frieza— turned him on his belly with the tip of his boot. Frieza’s ribs sent up another stabbing flare of pain that made his heart stutter. His whole body was _throbbing._

“Torture?” Frieza hissed, defiantly, at him. “How gauche. I won’t give you the satisfaction of screaming.” 

Jiren did not respond. He positioned himself behind Frieza, shifting the emperor’s weighty tail to one side. 

Gloved hands began to slide around Frieza’s inner thigh. A sudden bolt of unease grasped hold of the disgraced emperor— he struck with his tail, swinging it wildly for Jiren’s head, but it was intercepted and subdued by Jiren’s powerful fist. 

Jiren’s knee settled on one of Frieza’s legs, pinning it down. His unoccupied hand slid up Frieza’s smooth inner thigh, searching. 

Frieza’s tail thrashed in Jiren’s grip. His free leg kicked, fruitlessly. 

Jiren found what he must’ve been looking for; Frieza shuddered as thick, probing fingers circled the rim of his cloaca. 

“Brute! Barbarian! Animal!” Frieza bawled, furiously. He twisted, his snapped ribs sending a stabbing pain through his body, and fired a flurry of shots from the tip of his finger. They were effortlessly batted aside, exploding on contact with the jagged rocks nearby. _“What_ do you think you’re doing!?” 

“Might makes right,” Jiren said, simply, “And you’re weak.” 

The quiet Pride Trooper pushed his finger in; Frieza gasped, his stomach curdling. His toes trembled, and the sensation rocked him all the way to his core. 

Frieza did not indulge in that end of hedonism. A sexual creature he was _not;_ his race mated for reproduction- not for pleasure or social bonding like those weak little humans or filthy Saiyans- and he had not yet gotten around to fulfilling that end of the biological imperative. He’d tried it once, found the effort it took for a minutia of pleasure to be not worth it, and discarded breeding as an activity for his autumnal years. 

“G-Get your filthy hands off of me,” Frieza demanded. His finger wriggled inside Frieza’s walls like the maggot it belonged to, and the emperor gave a helpless shudder. There wasn’t pleasure so much as _intensity—_ an indescribable feeling that made his whole body shake. “You realize this is a despicable strategy for trying to win—! While you’re distracted with me, the rest of your universe will suffer!” 

“I don’t need them to win this Tournament,” Jiren replied, calm and measured. His entire finger, up to his knuckle, had been swallowed by Frieza’s cloaca. 

Just the singular digit stretched Frieza’s hole to the bursting; with every tiny movement of Jiren’s finger, shivers danced up and down the emperor’s spine. He could feel- mortifyingly- a slickness beginning, an instinctual bodily response attempting to smooth the way for intercourse. Jiren began to rub slow circles against his inner walls, coaxing more. Frieza’s tail twitched against his will, and his heart began to pound anew. 

Resolve grabbed him, fought against what would happen.

 **_No!_ ** _I am Lord Frieza, and I will not allow this violation to take place at the hands of this_ **_worm!_ **

He grasped ahold of his power, charging it up in his battered bones— Frieza brought his two fists together, twisted around (his ribs _screamed_ in agony) and clubbed Jiren’s face with all of his might.

The stoic grey alien barely flinched. 

“You’re weak, like I said.” The hand holding his tail let go, grabbing the back of Frieza’s neck. Before the emperor had time to process, his face was slammed into the stone floor— he lost count how many times after the first two, but when it was over, he lay limp and dazed. 

His entire face was one hot blip of pain. His nose had probably broken— every exhale hurt as much as the tinny trumpets of Earth’s hell. He couldn’t see for the blood in his eyes. 

Frieza whined, neck twitching, when the second of Jiren’s fingers slipped in. His tail flicked, weakly, without any strength behind it. He was having trouble coming up with cohesive thought after his head had met the floor so many times. 

_Guhhh—! Get it together! You’re Lord Frieza! You have to stop him! You will not be humiliated in this way!_

But what _could_ he do to stop him!? Frieza had used his strongest attacks. He couldn’t even keep up with Jiren’s movements in order to _defend_ himself, much less go on the offensive. 

Jiren’s fingers were thick in his hole; rubbing, teasing, tormenting. The shivers made his back twitch; it struck the breath from his lungs. It was not painful, but too intense to really be pleasure… and he was already starting to feel _overfull._

Frieza was small. It was something he hated about himself, and one of a few points of self-consciousness he had left. 

His race’s genitalia were built for the size of the species— large enough to function, but not much more. In truth, Frieza had once toyed with the idea of experimenting with his right hand men- Zarbon, Dodoria- but had balked when realizing their forms were wildly out-of-proportion when it came to his slighter, smaller body, and his race’s reproductive system. 

Jiren was roughly equivalent to Zarbon’s height, perhaps a little more. And if that equated in other areas…

This was going to be a problem. 

/ / /

“Hmm… Did anyone happen to see where Frieza slunk off to? I just realized I haven’t seen him in a while.” Roshi peered over the edge of his seat in the eliminated section, fruitlessly scanning the ridged and furrowed wasteland for any sign of the tyrant. 

“I know he’s on our side and all,” Krillin said, gripping the fabric above his knees nervously, “But I can’t help but hope he’s just hiding somewhere and not causing any trouble.” 

“I’m not sure Frieza’s the hiding type,” Tien Shinhan murmured. 

Krillin shuddered. “... Yeah. I don’t think he is.” 

“Hmph,” Beerus the Destroyer’s ear flicked in annoyance. “Come to think of it… he was fighting Dyspo earlier, wasn’t he? But Dyspo’s regrouped with Top, over there.”

“Does that mean Dyspo beat Frieza?” Tien asked.

“No— In a situation like this, no smart fighter would let another have a second chance. If Dyspo won, he would’ve thrown Frieza out of the ring.” Roshi shook his head.

“So Dyspo ran away?” Tien reinterpreted.

“Frieza wouldn’t let him get away,” Krillin told him. “The guy’s ruthless, and always tries to finish the fights he starts.”

Tien stared at the two of them, expression wavering. “So? What does that mean?”

The Supreme Kai of Universe Seven interrupted, though not intentionally. He gave a soft little sound of surprise— everyone turned to look at him, and he flushed a mortified purple at the attention he’d garnered. 

“What, Kai?” Beerus demanded.

“It’s just…” The Supreme Kai hesitated. “I noticed Jiren isn’t meditating in the center anymore.” 

Several pairs of eyes were drawn to the spot where the big grey alien had been resting— corroborating the Supreme Kai’s words.

“You don’t think,” Krillin said, uneasily. “... Wouldn’t we _know_ if Frieza and Jiren were…?” 

“There’s so much power being thrown around right now, I can barely tell who’s who and where they are,” Roshi said, frustrated. “I can feel Frieza’s energy, and it feels like a whole lot like Golden Frieza, but other than that—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the Supreme Kai noisily stood, his face drained of its color. His fists were balled at his sides, and his expression was faintly sickened. 

“Grand Minister!” His small voice rang out, almost drowned by the din of fighting below. Beerus immediately jerked to life, slapping a paw over the Kaioshin’s mouth and dragging him back into his seat.

“What! What is it!? Don’t talk to him unless you have to, idiot! If he doesn’t like what we have to say, he could get the Zenos to erase us!” 

Supreme Kai struggled to wrench himself free from the Destroyer’s grasp. “Listen to me! I’ve… I’ve spotted Frieza and Jiren, and I— I want to make sure what’s happening is allowed…”

 _“Allowed?_ Is Jiren killing him or something? If so, _good!_ Let Frieza take one for the team! It’s our survival that’s at stake!” Beerus thundered. “Don’t say anything!” 

“My Lord, if this turns out to be a disqualifying offense, it would be a good idea to let the Supreme Kai speak as soon as possible,” Whis said, helpfully. 

“Well? What is it?” Beerus let him go, and the Kaioshin glanced away, eyes downcast. “What’re they doing, Kai?” 

He had a crowd of curious listeners now— he’d even drawn eyes from other universes with the outburst. 

“I…” the Supreme Kai hesitated, then leaned forward to whisper in the Destroyer’s ear. Beerus’s expression shifted, rapidly, before settling on a moderate disgust. 

“Fine. Go and report that to the Minister. If it’s not allowed, we’ll take the win. If it is, let him be. It’s distracting Jiren, and that’s about all we can ask for.”

The Supreme Kai’s face fell. “How can you be so heartless?” 

“You must’ve seen this sort of thing _billions_ or _trillions_ of times in your tenure as Supreme Kai, and you haven’t stepped in to stop any of it before,” Beerus told him, dismissively. “Now that it’s helping our universe be saved is when you want to moralize at me? I’m sure Frieza’s done worse himself! Besides, he understood when he entered this tournament that it wouldn’t be a walk in the park.”

The Supreme Kai’s face twisted in anger. He jabbed a finger into Beerus’s skinny chest. “That’s easy for you to say— you’re not the one down there, Beerus.” 

Before the Destroyer could respond, the Kaioshin got out of his seat and flew over to the Grand Minister, to speak in hushed, hurried tones.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but…” Tien twisted in his seat to regard Beerus. “What’s going on?” 

Beerus seemed to ponder, flicking the tip of his tail indecisively. “The Kai wanted to protect his modesty, so I guess I’ll follow suit. Suffice to say Frieza is in a difficult position right now.”

“... I don’t feel the energy of Golden Frieza anymore,” Krillin said, uneasily. “That’s probably bad, right?” 

Beerus disregarded him, staring intently at the returning Supreme Kai, who shook his head.

“The Grand Minister said there was nothing in the rules prohibiting it,” he said, defeated. He gently sat back in his seat, head lowered. “So long as it’s not killing, it’s allowed.”

“Feh,” Beerus’s ear twitched, though there was a crease of irritation to his nose. Evidently it was a point of his _own_ pride that his warriors be treated with dignity. “At least if he’s with Frieza he can’t be protecting his own team. Let’s let it lie for now.” 

“We should call Goku and Vegeta to help him,” Supreme Kai argued. “This isn’t right.”

“It’s not about right or wrong, Kai! It’s about winning! If you say a single word to either of them, I’ll knock you into the ring myself!” Beerus blustered. “Besides— do you really think a prideful bastard like Frieza would want _either_ of them to help at a time like this?” 

/ / /

Three fingers. Frieza was overfull; he could feel slick crawling down over his soft, smooth skin, more produced with the movement of Jiren’s fingers. They were moving in a steady rhythm now; in and out, back and forth, parting Frieza’s quaking walls, causing more slick to leak on the upstroke. They came close to hurting when they dove deep— but it could’ve been worse. At some point this stopped being about pure violence— and started to err more on _violation._

He must’ve known Frieza hated every scrap of unasked pleasure; that there was no greater humiliation than to _leak_ like a used concubine, or groan on the ends of Jiren’s fingers. There was something hot and heavy burning in the pit of his stomach, _growing_ with each forceful swirl of Jiren’s fingers. 

Good. It felt good, yes, in a raw and _painful_ way. The fact that it was an enemy doing it only rubbed salt into the many wounds he’d beaten into Frieza’s body. 

Jiren’s huge form leaned over his; Frieza could feel the heat radiating off of him, even without contact. He did not stop fingering Frieza when he leaned forward to whisper in his ear: 

“You’re _weak,_ conqueror. As I thought.” 

“I,” Frieza gasped, jaggedly, “Am Lord Frieza, and I am not _weak.”_

“Yet here you are, battered underneath me.”

Frieza’s reserves of strength had run dry a long time ago. Ever since his doomed clash with Jiren had begun- ever since the start of this violation- he’d been running on fumes. It was a miracle he’d been able to keep the shining gold adornments of Golden Frieza as long as he had— though he sensed it would not be much longer. 

“You… are a worm,” Frieza seethed, “That I’ll crush under my foot.” 

That received him a slap to the back of the head. Stars speckled Frieza’s vision for a moment, until he managed to blink them away. 

“You’re weak, and no amount of posturing will change that,” Jiren told him. “For that reason… you deserve everything that is about to happen to you.” 

Frieza was flipped onto his back, which throbbed at the rough treatment— though there wasn’t a single part of his body at this point that wasn’t twinging in pain. 

Jiren loomed over him. He pinned Frieza’s arms together with one hand- placing his palm over the smaller alien’s wrists- and used the other to adjust his bodysuit. His knee shifted, pinning Frieza’s left leg down with his right, holding Frieza’s tail down with his shin— then he delicately lifted Frieza’s other leg, providing unfettered access to the emperor’s dripping cloaca.

“I’ll destroy you for this,” Frieza hissed. “You’ll be _grateful_ when your universe is turned to dust, because you won’t have to meet your death at my hands!” 

His tail thrashed, but given the position, it was difficult to wriggle it into a useful spot; he could wrap it around Jiren’s leg, but Frieza wasn’t strong enough to dislodge him. 

Jiren elected not to respond to Frieza’s provocation. He maneuvered himself, gently adjusting the position of Frieza’s leg. Frieza didn’t want to watch what was to come, and averted his eyes; his mind flashed with all of the horrible, torturous, _awful_ things he would do, _could_ do, to Jiren when this was over— there was no punishment that would possibly be high enough. The only humiliation he’d ever suffered even remotely close to this was that miserable monke—

Frieza gave a soft sound, writhing; his bruised ribs told him not to move, but he couldn’t help it. There was something thick, heavy, _hot_ pressing at his entrance. 

“Ah— _Ah! N,_ n—”

He bit down on his tongue. Frieza would not beg for mercy, would not plead for Jiren to stop— the damnable Pride Trooper wouldn’t even be granted that barest satisfaction. 

“Ah— _Ahh!”_ His walls did not part easily for Jiren; trembling but resistant, clamping down on the invading organ. It was much, much too big for a body so small—! Jiren’s species and his were _not compatible!_

There was a point where his cries of unease became ones of pain— he struggled and kicked, howling his displeasure, until the thick head _breached_ and began to mangle his insides. 

“N—! _Nnnhhh!!”_ Frieza had no defense against it. The crushing grip on his wrists meant he could not aim an energy beam, nor use a majority of his _ki_ techniques. Martial attacks wouldn’t work either— he was thoroughly pinned, barring the end of his tail, which had been uselessly pounding against Jiren’s leg since the beginning of the onslaught. 

Jiren exhaled, hard and heavy; he’d managed about an inch or two before pausing, and his thick member wedged itself into Frieza’s underprepared body.

“You’re… _tight,”_ Jiren muttered. There was a slight trace of feeling- exertion, even- on the stoic beast’s brow. “Was this hole… even meant for this?” 

Frieza’s spine had stiffened up, shock freezing his limbs in place; his tail had stopped its ceaseless battering as animal instinct demanded he be still. Millions of years of evolution told Frieza not to struggle— a lifetime of conquest and pride roared at him to do the opposite. 

Jiren stared down at him more intensely. The knee digging into Frieza’s leg began to increase with a threatening pressure— not that it meant anything against the broken ribs or thick member skewering him.

“Is it meant for—” Jiren began to repeat.

“You can ask— _civilly—_ without trying to break my leg,” Frieza panted. His composure was starting to crack, but he couldn’t afford to drop the facade now. If he lost his temper now things would only get worse. “It serves… multiple functions…” 

“It’s small,” Jiren muttered. 

“It wasn’t meant for worms like you!” Frieza blustered. His tail thudded hard against Jiren’s shin, to no avail. “Is there none of your _own_ filthy species left to reproduce with? If that’s the case, my only regret is I wasn’t the one who—”

Without any ceremony, Jiren pushed in further. The pain was sharp, stunning— Frieza’s body spun out of control in an effort to accommodate, throwing up flares of nausea and pain in a slapdash attempt to warn the emperor of what he was already well aware of: this needed to stop, right now.

Jiren hadn’t buried in all the way, but he’d forcefed most of his length in— Frieza felt like he was splitting in half. 

The emperor’s breaths had little whimpers on the exhales. It was _excruciating._ Jiren’s breaths were beginning to grow labored, too; it seemed the difficulty of the coupling was a two-way street. 

Jiren began shifting; tiny, minute motions, _torturous,_ trying to probe even deeper. It was too much all at once; Frieza began a wretched cry of pain, using the only vehicle of protest at his disposal to voice his displeasure— he struck out violently with his tail, lashing against Jiren’s leg. 

“O-odious, little— maggot—” Frieza managed. “Nh, _nh—”_

Torturously, Jiren slid deeper. He seemed determined to bury to the hilt— even if there was physically no room for him to do so. 

“Y-you’re vile,” Frieza blustered. “You and your whole miserable universe _deserved_ to be consigned to the cosmic wastebinnn—nnghhhh—!” 

He’d made it. Despite Frieza’s misgivings, he had pushed to the root; their hip-bones met, groin to groin, hot and unpleasant. Frieza felt fit to burst; his body was not made to accommodate such tremendous size, and he had the feeling his organs would make him pay for the monstrous length’s intrusion later. 

In the present— it was too much. All too much. 

The brilliant gold cloaking his body vanished, and he returned to his base state. The smooth, reassuring power of that form slipped from his grasp, and he was rendered even more helpless than before. He tried to summon back his strength, to return his form to what it once was, but he simply no longer had the energy for the transformation anymore. 

Jiren did not comment. He moved, minutely, adjusting his position; every tiny shift felt like a bolt of shock up Frieza’s spine. The emperor could feel some hot liquid trickling out of his hole and rolling down his skin; his own natural slick, his blood, or some secretion of Jiren’s, he couldn’t guess. 

“Th-this is an honor for you, I’m sure,” Frieza struggled to keep his composure in the face of the overwhelming pressure to burst into a screaming tantrum. Breaking down would do him no good, no matter how much he _wanted_ to— he would stay poised well beyond his breaking point, or it would only mean further humiliation. “One that you ought to savor while you still continue to breathe… I suppose as far as last days alive, you could do much worse than bed Lord Fri—”

Jiren moved. Pulling out. Frieza’s walls clung to him, tightly, desperately, and the friction was equal parts pain and pleasure. Frieza threw his head back with an incoherent cry, before biting down on his inner cheek to try to suppress the sound. 

When Jiren pushed back _in,_ Frieza saw stars. He thrashed, violently, _howling_ to the empty sky of the Null Realm— at that moment, he didn’t care _who_ saw him or what humiliations he would be subjected to. He would take rescue from the monkey Saiyans, from the scowling Namekian, from enemies or allies— _anything_ to stop the pain and violation. 

But no one came. 

Jiren began a rhythm. It was slow, but he had no choice _but_ to go slow due to their mismatched forms. He worked at an agonizing pace— leisurely, torturously scraping in, then out, then in. He gingerly pressed a space for himself into Frieza’s innards, forcing the galactic emperor’s smaller body to either accommodate or break. 

Flashes of white-hot pleasure- sensitive nerves running all through his reproductive system- underscored the burning, aching stretch of Jiren’s oversized member. It was an entirely different Hell than the one Frieza was used to suffering— a physical rather than mental torment, punishing in its force and distressing in its slivers of bliss. It was well more pain than pleasure- far more _humiliation_ than both- and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Frieza’s cries died off to whimpers, choked little sounds on the harsh pushes in and the rough pulls out. Jiren found a faster tempo, and Frieza’s jagged gasps grew more strained and irregular. 

Broken ribs, battered body, damaged face— his leg was going numb under the force of Jiren’s knee, and that wasn’t even to mention the huge, hot member forcing his cloaca open wider than it was ever meant to be. Frieza felt more small, helpless, _humiliated than_ he ever had— for a moment he contemplated reverting to a weaker form, his second stage, just so he could more ably accommodate Jiren’s girth.

But that would be nothing less than ceding to his power, and although it would be easier on him, Frieza would _not_ do it. He absolutely refused. His pride was the only thing he had left in the wake of this utter submission. 

Jiren had been mostly impassive through their rough coupling, with the occasional hard grunt, quavering breath, or unsteady moan— he seemed completely detached from Frieza himself, almost like the emperor was an anonymous hole to pummel instead of a conquest to humiliate. His huge grey eyes glanced down after a moment, and his thrusts stagnated.

“Do you have a womb?” The Pride Trooper asked, with a surprising restraint.

Frieza gave him a look of sheer, unadulterated loathing. At this point, the emperor was trembling uncontrollably; his spine felt like gelatin and his lower body was a maelstrom of so many conflicting pains, pressures, and pleasures that he couldn’t unknot it all. Even outside his reproductive tract, what felt like his internal organs themselves were protesting the brutal treatment— Frieza felt unnervingly squashed, _stretched,_ in impossible ways. 

But just because Jiren was in control didn’t mean Frieza would play nice. 

“There are so many reasons why I couldn’t bear your filthy mix-breed pups I don’t even know where to start listing them,” Frieza seethed, “Least of all beginning with whether or not I have a womb.” 

Jiren’s face showed a half-second’s anger, but it quickly smoothed to his old impassive countenance. He gave a particularly brutal thrust, and Frieza gave a choked cry of pain. He writhed on instinct, trying to free himself, to no avail. 

“I’m not asking for me.” Jiren’s temper seemed to have cooled; he returned to the more gradual speed, with a moderate slide in and out. 

After a moment, Jiren let go of the emperor’s leg; he used his free hand to trace over Frieza’s smooth groin and up his lower belly, settling the flat of his palm there. With his eyes drawn to the spot, Frieza could _swear_ that he was witnessing Jiren’s girth from its position inside him— that there was a bulge visible in his lower abdomen, shifting with Jiren’s movements. The very idea had Frieza smoldering with a hot, irrepressible shame. 

“That a monster such as yourself can grow a child within you…” Jiren muttered. “It will be a relief when you are erased.” 

Since Jiren had so conveniently left Frieza’s leg free, the emperor took the opportunity to jab his knee into the Pride Trooper’s ribs. Faster than Frieza could follow, Jiren caught his leg in a crushing grip. 

Frieza braced for his femur to be broken, but no such pain came. Jiren instead re-adjusted his grip, and tilted Frieza onto one side to get a better angle— intentionally or not, he had left the brunt of the weight on Frieza’s unbroken ribs. 

Then the Pride Trooper began to intensify his thrusts. 

The slap of skin on skin became loud— the disgusting squelch of their sexes filling the air and drowning out the ambiance of distant battle. Frieza found himself too void of breath to scream; black spots began to sear his vision as Jiren pummeled relentlessly into him. 

It hurt _so much._

Every thrust stabbed against nerves that had been already ground raw— exploded a precession of agonies, with not so much as a split second of recovery before the next thrust into Frieza’s helpless body brought a fresh wave of pain. The electrifying bolts of pleasure were _intensity_ moreso than bliss— making his spine stiffen and his toes curl, choking his throat and rendering him unable to speak.

Jiren slammed in a final time, roared; his _ki_ flickered, red-hot and unfathomable. Frieza could definitely feel his energy this time— like the scorching heat of a solar system’s star, blowing right in his face. It was humbling, terrifying, and _infuriating._

Jiren’s seed coated Frieza’s wrecked insides; hot, wet, viscerally unpleasant. The emperor could _feel_ it spurt into him in all its revolting glory— seeping into his marred innards with the most disgusting viscousness.

But, more than that— Jiren was stunned by his orgasm, and Frieza found his window to attack. 

He forced every last scrap of energy into his battered, weary body- took on the adornments of his Golden form, in all its mighty glory- and wrenched his arms free. As he’d expected, Jiren’s overwhelming strength meant nothing when he wasn’t in a position to control it.

Frieza brought his fists together and clubbed Jiren in the side of the head. There was a moment just before it landed where Jiren came down from the high of his climax, and processed what was going on— but it was much too late.

Jiren went flying from the blow, though righted himself before he could become the proud father of a brand new impact crater. 

Frieza scrambled to his feet- broken, battered, exhausted, in searing pain- but still alive and very much in the tournament. As he stood, he could feel Jiren’s seed trying to obey the command of gravity; to drip out of the emperor’s cloaca and trickle down his thighs. It was _revolting._

“You’ve made your point,” Frieza sneered. “I’m rotten to the core and you’re the strongest in all the universes.” 

His tail snapped against the ground in his agitation; the stone cracked under the force. 

Everything he’d endured was unbearably _humiliating—_ but even after it was over the torture refused to end. Frieza had to clench his abused cloaca to hold everything in, or else be subject to the fruits of their coupling drooling down his thighs. 

He felt open, raw, sore— completely empty and gutted. Just the air passing between his legs, traveling over his abused hole, made him want to shiver. He couldn’t even clench it completely closed— _that_ was how badly Jiren had broken him in. 

Even more mortifyingly, Frieza’s cloaca had begun to twitch; giving small, involuntary spasms as it grappled with the abuse it had just taken and the emptiness it’d been left with.

“But you made a fatal mistake when you tried to humiliate _Lord Frieza,”_ Frieza hissed, tail slamming against the stone. Little chips of debris went flying. “I’ll remember this, and when I do, you’ll wish you had never entered this little competition.” 

“You’re in no position to posture,” Jiren replied. 

He adjusted himself— Jiren’s member was still hanging out of his uniform; grey, long, thick, smudged with fluids and beginning to soften. The Pride Trooper stroked it, indecisively; Frieza read the threat in that motion, intentional or not.

_I’ll do it again, emperor, and the result will be exactly the same._

Jiren’s expression shifted; momentary surprise, then cold aloofness. He tucked himself back into his ridiculous spandex uniform.

A moment later, Frieza was heralded with:

“Hey! Frieza! So this is where you got off to!” 

Goku, that cursed, damnable, _disgusting_ Saiyan, was perched on a jagged outcropping of rock overlooking the arena of Frieza’s violation. He was a new arrival to the scene— the monkey would have stepped in to stop what’d just happened, Frieza knew, if he had been there to witness it. He was insufferably noble like that.

Vegeta was not far behind the first Saiyan. It was him Frieza was more concerned about. He did not share Goku’s incorruptible naïveté— he would read the situation clearly if given the chance, and Frieza was loath to let him know the depths of his humiliation at Jiren’s hands.

“We’ll take it from here,” Goku declared, leaping down to join them. He dropped into a warrior’s crouch, wearing one of his infuriatingly silly little smiles. “Ready, Jiren?” 

He took on the glowing blue form that Frieza despised so much— Vegeta, yet again, was on his heels. 

Jiren spared Frieza a passing look— it was completely blank, as expressionless as a mirror, but Frieza read its intended message. 

_Scamper away, coward emperor. You aren’t worth my time anymore._

Frieza grit his teeth. He knew he stood no chance— particularly in his current state— but his self-respect demanded he, at the very least, make another attempt. His ego couldn’t bear fleeing like a whipped dog; withdrawing from a fight, even a losing one, was simply not in his prideful nature. 

“You’ll have only the briefest of moments to regret your actions when your universe is destroyed, you damnable wretch!” Frieza shouted. The defiant yell was his last parting shot— the best he could muster in his sorry state. The disgraced emperor retreated from the fray; finding a safe haven beyond a rocky outcropping, bitterly conceding that he was no match for Jiren as he was— and that he would have to leave the brunt of the fighting to the Saiyans. 

As a mixture of Jiren’s seed and Frieza’s blood trickled down the emperor’s thighs, he vowed that if any such race as Jiren’s existed in his _own_ universe, he would take his time purging it from reality— in a way just as slow, deliberate, and _painful_ as his own violation had been. 

It would be a nice change of pace before he set his sights on killing Goku once again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for sticking through to the end. Comments appreciated.


End file.
